


Snuggled Up Together

by silentdescant



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College Student Stiles Stilinski, Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Full Shift Werewolves, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 13:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17101088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: Peter’s new house is magnificent. It’s what Stiles imagines the old Hale house was like before the fire.“This is beautiful,” he says as Peter comes out of the front door.Peter greets him with a brief kiss.





	Snuggled Up Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bookaholic98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookaholic98/gifts).



> Happy Steter Secret Santa! This fic is a gift for @mysterekfanfic on tumblr, and it's so hard for me to not write angst, but they were right in their request: this pairing always needs more fluff!

Peter’s new house is magnificent. It’s what Stiles imagines the old Hale house was like before the fire. It’s imposing in stature, but there are so many windows that it looks bright and welcoming. The clearing around the house is haphazardly manicured, like Peter hired a landscaper about a month ago and nobody’s been back to care for the outdoors since. All the underbrush is clear, but the grass is overgrown and there are leaves scattered across the yard, tinged yellow and red. Stiles is excited to see how the view changes as fall turns to winter.

“This is beautiful,” he says as Peter comes out of the front door.

Peter greets him with a brief kiss. “How were finals?”

“Awful, but I aced at least two of them. Gimme a real kiss, I deserve a reward.”

“We’ll see about that when your grades come in,” Peter says, but he gives Stiles a real kiss anyway.

They’ve spent too many weeks apart—Stiles too bogged down in studying to make the trek back to Beacon Hills and Peter too preoccupied with moving into this place from his downtown apartment to drive down for a visit—and Stiles is content to just stand here in Peter’s arms in the middle of the front lawn for the next few hours while they re-learn each other. Peter kisses him deeply, cradling the back of Stiles’s head while Stiles twists handfuls of Peter’s sweater in his fists. The longing Stiles has felt building for weeks finally has a release.

“You want a tour?” Peter murmurs against his lips.

“Only if we start with the bedroom.”

Peter smirks, sharp-edged and mischievous, and drags Stiles through every single room of the house besides the master suite. There are too many bedrooms for one man; downstairs, one’s been converted into an office, and one a gym, and upstairs there are two guest rooms. Peter shows Stiles all the bathrooms and closets and they loop around downstairs again to see the back deck with its weatherproof lounge chairs. The kitchen is surprisingly inviting; where Peter’s apartment had all modern, stainless steel appliances and sleek black furnishings, this house has rustic, reddish tiles and warm wood cabinets. It’s not what Stiles expected at all.

“This looks amazing,” he says, trailing his fingers along the countertops. The more he thinks about it, the more he can picture Peter being comfortable in a space like this. It’s traditional and a little bit wild, and it feels a lot more in touch with Peter’s wolfish roots than his apartment ever did.

Peter takes him through the dining room with its huge table and the cozy living room with its jewel-tone throw pillows and curtains. There’s a large TV mounted on the wall, and windows much wider than a traditionally built house would have, but that’s the only visible hint at modernity. It’s such a welcome change from Stiles’s cramped, cluttered dorm, and from Peter’s too-fancy apartment. It’s relaxing just to be here. It makes Stiles want to curl up with a mug of hot chocolate in his hand. He can’t wait for snow to dust the trees outside.

“Do you like it?” Peter asks.

“I want to live here,” Stiles answers immediately.

Peter presses a quick kiss to Stiles’s cheek. “Good. Now you can see the bedroom.”

The master suite is decorated in much cooler tones than the rest of the house. Still cozy enough, with different shades of grey and blue, but a lot of glass and clean lines. This is what Stiles expected from Peter’s style preferences, and it suits his own too. Stiles needs to sleep in a place that will quiet his mind, and he thinks Peter feels the same. It’s not something they’ve ever talked about, but Peter always seems to understand and provide the right sort of environment to soothe Stiles’s racing thoughts. He keeps his hand wrapped around Stiles’s, stretching up with his thumb to stroke the bony part of Stiles’s wrist, like he can’t help himself. Stiles understands the feeling intimately.

“Are we done with the tour?” Stiles asks as they’re looking out at the trees through the bedroom window. “Can I move in yet?”

“One more semester,” Peter murmurs against his ear. He wraps his arms around Stiles from behind, blanketing him with warmth. “Are you hungry?”

“I’d much rather we christen the new bed.”

“It’s the same as the old bed, it just has new sheets.”

“Well, let’s christen those, then.”

With one swift move, Peter’s arms tighten around Stiles’s middle. He swings them around and tosses Stiles to the side, where he lands in a breathless heap on the mattress. Peter pounces, caging him in immediately against the soft comforter, and grins down at him, showing sharp teeth and glittering eyes.

“If you insist.”

***

Stiles spends a few days with his father over the break, drowning in nostalgia in his childhood bedroom with all of his posters and games and shredded clothes, casualties of growing up at the Hellmouth that is Beacon Hills. He’s glad to get back to Peter’s house, though, and the safety of Peter’s arms, which is weird to think about in the context of his teenage years. It’s taken him and Peter a while to get to this point.

He almost brings it up but the words stick in his throat. He doesn’t want to dwell on the danger and the fear of the past, and he doesn’t want to see the regret and the guilt dulling Peter’s soft smile. Instead, Stiles leans over and plants a gentle kiss on Peter’s cheek while they’re watching a movie, and Peter squeezes Stiles’s knee, radiating satisfaction.

They walk through the Preserve the next day, making a loop around the property, and Peter shows him the markings he’s carved into the trees so Stiles can find his way back if he ever gets lost. Stiles grins at him. They’re bundled up in sweaters and the layer of damp leaves on the ground seems to deaden all noise but what they create, and Stiles feels like they’re all alone in the world. He reaches for Peter’s hand and laces their fingers together.

“Would’ve thought you’d hate the forest after all the evil you’ve seen,” Peter muses. “I’m glad you don’t.”

“You really belong here,” Stiles replies. “I can feel it. I can see it. How comfortable you are.”

“I am.”

Peter’s much more settled in the Preserve, surrounded by nature, than he was in the city. He looks confident and relaxed, and wild enough to fit in with untamed forest. The city brought out Peter’s sharpness: his snappy wit and his temper, his bared teeth and clenched fists. Here, not everything has to be perfect, and that includes Peter. He doesn’t have to hide his raw edges.

“You’re happier here than you were downtown,” Stiles says after a few minutes more of walking. “That makes me happy too.”

The next night is the full moon, and Stiles watches from the deck as Peter slinks through the yard on four legs, chasing little woodland creatures. He sneaks around at the edges of the forest for a while, a dark shape visible in the light of the moon, before eventually disappearing into the tree line and the darkness.

Stiles goes inside to wait on the couch for him to come home, but he leaves the back door open so Peter can return still in his wolf form. The night drags on with no sign of Peter. After a few hours of mindless television, Stiles falls asleep with his head resting on the arm of the couch and his hands tucked into his armpits to keep warm.

He wakes up in the pre-dawn light of the next morning as a giant grey wolf climbs up onto the couch and carefully curls around him. Peter settles in with a huff, pillowing his head on Stiles’s hip. Stiles’s freezing toes quickly thaw, tucked under Peter’s furry bulk.

He reaches up slowly—not out of fear, but out of wonder—to brush his fingertips across the thick fur behind Peter’s pointed ears. Stiles doesn’t let himself forget how incredible it is to be so intimate with a werewolf. This mythical creature, a terrifying, powerful beast is allowing Stiles to pet him like a dog. Because he loves Stiles.

Stiles traces the tip of Peter’s ear and pushes his fingers deeper through the thick fur around his neck. Peter blinks at him, blue eyes shining, and gently tips his head to the side, exposing his throat to Stiles’s touch.

“I love you,” Stiles whispers.

The wolf sighs heavily and nuzzles him for a moment, then very deliberately closes his eyes. Stiles buries his hand in Peter’s fur and closes his eyes too, comfortable and content to doze for a little while longer.

 

 _fin_.


End file.
